I’ve decided to revisit the exercise I wrote about previously called the Journey Project as an interlude to this brand. I feel I’m immersed in this agency of map making at the moment that I’d like to branch out and do something even more hypothetical than my hypothetical identity project. Maybe this will just end up being Sojourn, but for now I just want to make things, make maps, and create some form of journey, both objectively and subjectively.

Some initial thoughts as I begin on the project:

Format
Format becomes an immediate concern. For these creative projects in school, there was often the conundrum of being given free reign on what form the completed project would take. Could be a series of posters, a book or a digital presentation, even interactive. In class, a question like “what format should this project be?” would often be met with an answer like “what format do you think is best?” I don’t resent that kind of spur for creativity, but realistically speaking, a graphic designer isn’t normally given such a wide open avenue for production. Regardless, in the very first moments of brainstorming for this journey project, a real design concern will dictate how the rest of the piece will be completed, and that’s deciding what kind of visual piece will represent this journey.

I’m not exactly threatened by this prospect since this is a completely personal project. To answer the question I merely have to decide what I want, and although I can sometimes have trouble deciding between chocolate and vanilla ice cream, a product like this can become way less transient than desert, and therefore carry some importance. The journey could be a series of posters or placards and I could envision them on my wall (should the visuals attract me enough), but then perhaps they’re more like paintings than a real piece of design. Nothing wrong with that of course (see my previous review of Paula Scher’s book). Perhaps the piece is a book; that’s a natural choice since it is inherently narrative and is an age-old practice of keeping scraps of a journey bound to remember it fondly. Maybe the final product is as simple as being a map itself; if the geography of the journey is implicit, then the functionality becomes an inherent foundation for the life of the project. I could envision one being able to use the piece to retrace the steps of my former journey, and coincide their impressions with mine. I feel like this is done all the time with Google Earth—just plop in your own photo of the Eiffel Tower on the map and people can see what you saw. But this project might need more than photographs to convey my internal response to the voyage.

Reference
Reference is an important detail that differentiates a map from another form of design. Maps utilize references—a series of indications that help the viewer locate themselves in the visible field. This is, as I’m learning, potentially the most basic and fundamental difference between a map and any other form of graphic communication. Perhaps this is why I’m most drawn to this order of communication, perhaps this is the ineffable aspect to them that draws me in time and again. Of course, it’s difficult to invest fully in that concept as a full definition of cartography, there are many examples of maps that do not geographically represent a place I am currently in, or can ever be (maps of the moon, fictional maps, conceptual maps). But I do believe it is safe to say that all maps must have a quality of reference. If a map in the front of a book shows the travels of Bilbo Baggins, obviously you can never place yourself in reference to that map, the book is a work of fiction. But the illustrations of the book’s geography require a reference to the character in that book. With that simple detail covered, so much more information may be absorbed from the map: how large the world is, where his home is, what features are there to the land, what parts of the world will he explore and what parts of the world might we never even learn about. Some of these questions might be answered, and some may not, but that simple reference point inspires the key quality of wonder to maps that make them so enchanting.

Wonder
Wonder is found in so many forms of design and art, especially in the narrative world. Books are making you wonder from the very first sentence, and the narrative proceeds to either answer your internal questions or to leave them untied. For this journey project I definitely want to retain some of that curiosity, but a good map also answers some questions and communicates an idea. This project is a bit brilliant because it is combining both a map and a narrative; it can be both place and time. I suppose time could be replaced with impression however, as there’s no true need to dictate how long one thing takes to get from point A to point B, but it could. Time could also be generalized, just like so many aspects of a map. A simple sequential order is inherent, but could be emphasized to enhance the experience.

Course
A path on a map can sway the viewer with an impression of the geography. It’s nearly impossible to omit however, even rivers run a specific course, roads and routes were laid long ago, all of which are some of the simplest ways to ensure that reference is achieved. Even as courses are displayed on any given map, the course of this particular journey also brings up a few queries: should the course be precise? what kinds of travels should be omitted? can a course simply indicate a connection between point A and point B without specifying the actual route? On a GPS this would be disastrous. It is strange to me that it loses so much value in a scrap book though. Recounting a journey in the past has little to do with the course unless that course is meaningful to the story of the journey. When I take a plane from Cincinnati to Seoul I’m pretty inclined to simply draw a straight line between the two, even though I clearly know the airplane I took had a specific course. As I recount a journey for this project, I’ve learned that exact course is less important than communicating a progression. I’m reminded of the Indiana Jones movies where Spielberg gives us an translucent transition map when Indy flies from Nepal to Egypt.

Discretion
As in any other form of design, discretion is the root of simplicity and comprehension. Discretion is the quality that ensures meaning is communicated, but needless or pointless information is left out. I questioned what courses should be represented in the section above; showing the path I took point A to point B is important, but from point A to point A.1 to point A.2 would be tedious. Even Google has a threshold for how far in you can zoom to their maps, how detailed a map should be, how many place names should be included and at what degree of perspective they are revealed. As I consider designing a representation of my journey I have to make choices for the viewer about what parts of the journey are unnecessary. This goes for the subjective representation as well. A good place to start might be determining what parts of the journey were most important, and maybe the level of comprehension will help steer me if more elements are needed to find reference.

Current Client: Fuse

Fuse is the name of an infused vodka project where exotic ingredients are combined and patiently brewed and are enjoyed at a later date. These vodkas are a homemade pet hobby of my own, but here on the blog I'm set out to give the product a graphic character to help bring it to life. Fuse has a lot going for it in taste, but in terms of identity, these five words were built to help guide the way: